As I was sitting in the waiting room, eyeing all of the pink ribbons around me and mulling over my conversation with the “registrar” about living wills and who would make medical decisions for me “should I be incapable of doing so myself”, a song came on the office stereo…by Pink, of course, and it made my pensive and precariously perched self even more pensive…and even more precariously perched….
The song was “Who Knew”, and I had plenty of time to think about the profundity in that rather tightly-wound, potty-mouth of a blonde’s words…
“if someone said three years from now, you’d be long gone, I’d stand up and punch them out ’cause they’re all wrong…”
Of course, “they” weren’t wrong…
Maya Angelou through the wise vernacular of Madea reminds us that “when someone shows you who they are…BELIEVE THEM!”, and as life does so often through trauma and tribulation, it has taught me over and over that these words are true.
So, when the technician told me that, try as she might, she couldn’t find what it was they had found in the first round of x-rays…it had apparently “disappeared”, I didn’t let my hopes rise too much.
Because life has taught me that everything is a lesson…everything.
So, when the same technician came back and said that they were still going to do an ultrasound just to be sure, I tried not to feel the roller-coaster of emotion her words were taking me on…
…and I tried not to panic when the ultrasound tech kept searching and clicking….searching and clicking…as if to say “wow, this tumor is HUGE!” (at least that’s what her face said!).
Because even though you get that everything is a lesson, you don’t always know what it is that you’re supposed to be learning…
(and there’s no better way to make an ass of yourself than to make assumptions…)
So, I just remained pensive…and precariously perched.
Even when the tech returned from examining my ultrasound and announced that everything looked “normal” and I didn’t have to come back for a whole year, I didn’t let myself “assume” that it really meant everything was okay.
But, on the way home from the hospital, Byron said,
“Don’t worry, Ang, I’ve talked to God and told him that he can take everything else…everything – all I need is you. So, you’re going to be fine.”
And at that point, I finally let myself relax and come down off of my “precarious perch” and actually feel some comfort in making it through that round of “life lessons” even though I know there will be many, many others.
Later today, for the third day in a row, we drove out to Moss Park to look at some acreage that we’ve had our eyes on for over a decade, and as we drove out there we passed a crane standing on the side of the road…looking lost. The significance of this is that I’ve seen that same crane every day for 3 days, standing in the same place on the side of the road…alone.
Cranes mate for life, so you rarely see them not in pairs. And it seemed obvious that more than likely he had lost his “other half”…perhaps on that rural road, and he couldn’t leave. He didn’t have anywhere else to go.
So, as I saw that same crane for the third time I had a little different reaction this time than in the 2 previous. I was still saddened, but somehow I understood the value of his pain.
It is through pain…trial and often even suffering that we gain the clarity to see the world around us more clearly…and also the people around us, as well.
I’m sure that crane wasn’t perfect. I’m sure he had his flaws. But he was there…even in the face of brutal reality…he was still there, feeling like half of his heart was missing…
And it spoke to me.
It reminded me to value the things in my life that bring me joy…the people in my life that are there for me when I need them the most. The ones who would stand by the side of the road and search for me even in the face of traffic and horns…and reality.
Life can really suck sometimes, and people can…show you who they are.
But, in the darkest times of life, I have seen who those around me are…they have told me…
…and I believe them.
and to those who have stood in the traffic of life for me, I say “thank you”.
and to those who just…couldn’t…for whatever reason, I say “thank you”, as well. (…thank you and I’m ready to let go of you now.)
You have spoken and I have believed you.
And I am at peace.
God has blessed me with peace.